


i've got this thing (gonna blow your mind)

by maddielle



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Alcohol, Bars and Pubs, Blow Jobs, Established Relationship, M/M, Masturbation, Mission Fic, Resolved Sexual Tension, Undercover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-03
Updated: 2020-11-03
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:29:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27358054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maddielle/pseuds/maddielle
Summary: Tonight, Andy’s making contact. Nile and Booker are outside, pretending to be on a perpetual smoke break while keeping an eye on the entrance. Joe himself is playing the part of club attendee in a suit jacket, no tie, one hip braced against the bar with a martini in one hand, and Nicky-Well.Nicky’s on bar duty.In which Nicky shows off, and Joe doesn't even try to resist.
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 12
Kudos: 310





	i've got this thing (gonna blow your mind)

**Author's Note:**

> Title: Got It - Marian Hill

It’s not a bad spot, Joe has to admit.

The club in London is nice, exclusive enough that Copley finished his background check on all attendees two weeks ago, busy enough that a discrete meeting between two people will barely be noticed. Their contact made a decent choice for a rendezvous.

Joe doesn’t blame her for being cautious. She’s been leaking secrets from a shady lobby group; there’s definitely some kind of price on her head, and their plan, so far, is to infiltrate and take down the infrastructure of the organization while simultaneously wiping the woman’s record clean. Two for one.

Tonight, Andy’s making contact. Nile and Booker are outside, pretending to be on a perpetual smoke break while keeping an eye on the entrance. Joe himself is playing the part of club attendee in a suit jacket, no tie, one hip braced against the bar with a martini in one hand, and Nicky-

Well.

Nicky’s on bar duty, having taken over someone’s shift thanks to a little meddling. He’s in a black t-shirt, jeans, and belt, all of it modern and tight to his frame. It’s not the first time he’s filled this particular role, and Joe’s been helping him all week to brush up on his skills, so he’s definitely putting on a bit of a show.

Joe knows it’s all for him, but if he clenches his own jaw any harder, he’s going to get a headache.

Nicky is a menace. He leans in when someone orders, flashes his teeth when he smiles. He rests his bared forearms on the bar and chats idly with men, women, anyone drawn towards him. He puts his shoulders on display when he shakes up cocktails, drops ice cubes and sprigs of mint and olives into concoctions with a flair, winks when he takes tips.

Joe wants to wreck him. Or, _be_ wrecked by him. Either, or.

Thankfully, his only job tonight is to keep half an eye on Andy and the contact on the other side of the room. He knows he shouldn’t slack, but the setup is as safe as it gets, so there isn’t much stopping him from leaving his glass behind and smoothly inserting himself between two patrons and lifting a hand.

Nicky sidles over. Grins lazily. “Can I help you?”

 _Yes_ , Joe thinks.

“Something to drink, maybe?” Nicky clarifies, lights from the dancefloor behind Joe catching in his eyes.

“Negroni,” Joe says.

“Sbagliato?” Nicky asks, raising an eyebrow.

“No, thanks.”

“Sure?”

Joe narrows his eyes. He doesn’t need telepathy to know what Nicky’s thinking about. The last time he’d made that drink for Joe while on the clock, it had been 2004 in the south of France. Following the job, Nicky had tied Joe to the headboard of their hotel bed for the entire night, had ridden, blown, fingered, and fucked the life out of him until the sun came up.

He looks up at Nicky, innocent. “I’m sure.”

Nicky’s eyes might harden and darken a little before he disappears for the ingredients, though it’s hard to tell in the lighting of the club. Regardless, Joe has to supress a shiver.

After a moment, Nicky returns and sets the drink down in front of Joe. Water drips slowly down the side of the cool glass like a drop of sweat.

“On the house,” Nicky murmurs, barely audible over the music. Then, he’s gone, attending to another customer somewhere else.

Joe takes the drink and lets out a slow breath, backing away and returning to his original spot to watch over Andy. He’s hoping she has what they need and won’t be too much longer, and, judging by how Nicky glances over at him every few minutes, he doesn’t think he’s the only one.

At Andy’s signal, Joe empties his glass and falls in behind her. Nicky will be a little longer at the bar, so it’s just the two of them in the cab she waves down. Nile and Booker will grab their own.

“Good meeting?” he asks, in the back of the sedan.

Andy nods, watching the cityscape outside. “Quick and easy.” She looks over at him. “You doing okay?”

“Just fine. Why?”

“You seem flighty.”

“Probably the alcohol,” he mutters. Andy grunts noncommittally and goes back to gazing out the window, though he catches the side of her mouth pulled up. At the hotel, once Booker and Nile arrive, she hands out key cards. Everyone gets their own room, Nicky and Joe counted as one unit as expected, which is an unusual luxury.

“Copley,” Andy says in explanation. She fixes Joe with a look. “You’ll wait up for Nicky?”

“’Course, boss.” Even if he weren’t still hoping to get lucky, Joe would wait for Nicky.

It’s just after two in the morning when he lets himself into the room. It’s clean and nice enough, the view of London from the fifteenth floor nothing to scoff at. Immediately, the suit is too much. He strips and drops his clothing next to the duffel on the floor that must have been delivered earlier in the day. A hot shower does wonders for the tension on his neck and shoulders, and a familiar glow of anticipation settles as he washes.

After, he wraps a towel around his waist and lays back on the bed. He texts Nicky the room number, and waits.

A soft knock comes at eighteen minutes past three.

Joe stands quietly and takes his handgun from the bedside table, approaching the door with it loose at his lower back. He opens the door for Nicky, who looks him over from head to toe, strides inside, and kicks the door shut without ceremony. He has Joe disarmed with his back against the wall in a heartbeat. This close, chest to naked chest, Joe can smell the club on him. Sweat, dry ice, booze.

“What kind of a welcome is this?” Nicky asks, lightly tapping the gun against Joe’s ribs. The safety was never off.

“A careful one.”

Nicky hums. “Never know who might show up.” He sets the firearm on the desk nearby and then fingers the towel tied at Joe’s waist. “Though it seems like you might have been waiting for someone.”

Joe can’t do anything but answer earnestly. “I’ll always wait for you.”

Softening momentarily, Nicky draws both hands down Joe’s stomach and back up again to his shoulders. “And I, you. What do you want?”

It’s been clear in Joe’s mind since he walked into the club and saw Nicky’s biceps in that top.

“I want you to come down my throat.”

The predatory look is back in Nicky’s eye between blinks. He rolls them so he’s the one leaned against the wall, Joe tipped into his arms, and gives an expectant look. Joe doesn’t need to be told to drop to his knees. He’s just about to undo that damned belt when Nicky catches his wrist.

“Take off the towel,” he softly demands, and Joe smiles a little to himself. He doesn’t hesitate to untuck the towel and drop it to one side, and he has a brief moment of clarity, picturing himself kneeling naked below a clothed Nicky, still in his sturdy boots, before rolling his shoulders and glancing up at his lover.

“Better?”

“Much.” Nicky smiles. “As you were.”

It’s not Joe’s finest work. He’s keyed up and blissed out as soon as the taste of Nicky’s cock hits his tongue, salty and strong after a day’s work. He grips Nicky’s hips and feels like a man obsessed as he sucks and dutifully bobs his head once Nicky is completely hard. He’s hot and solid in Joe’s mouth, an undeniable presence. Joe loves it.

An ache is just beginning to form in his jaw when he feels Nicky’s abs jump under his thumbs. A few more diligent pulls, and the back of his mouth is being coated. He swallows and swallows until there’s nothing more, sits back on his heels and pants as the tight grip in his hair loosens, and looks up. In the aftermath, Nicky’s chest is heaving, his eyes glazed over. He looks debauched in the way all those people at the bar had probably been imagining.

He looks like Joe’s again, and that thought is such a satisfying one that Joe almost forgets about his own arousal.

Almost.

He’s really happy where he is, so he braces one hand on Nicky’s thigh and takes himself in his hand, spitting into his palm to ease the way. A minute later, he’s well on his way to his own orgasm when Nicky catches on and threads gentle fingers back through his hair, sliding them around to cup his jaw and tilt his head up.

“Feel good?”

Joe nods, hand speeding up. “Yes. Nico, please-”

“Go ahead.”

Eyes fluttering shut, Joe’s rhythm stutters, and he spills over his fist. Some of the mess hits the carpet. He doesn’t care.

“Fuck,” he breathes, curling over himself, as Nicky slides down the wall to crouch before him. With the discarded towel, he carefully wipes the mess from Joe’s hand and groin before standing and helping him to his feet.

“Shower?” Nicky suggests.

“In the morning. I’m dead on my feet, love.” Joe kisses him, once. “Come to bed with me?”

It’s been a good night overall, but Joe’s favourite part without question is getting to drift to sleep with Nicky safe and sated in the circle of his arms.

Tomorrow, the job will continue. For now, they have this moment.

**Author's Note:**

> The Negroni sbagliato uses sparkling white wine or Prosecco in place of gin.


End file.
